On Your Knees!: The Sisterhood of MPBL
by Ms. Numbers
Summary: UNCOMPLETE & WILL NOT BE FINISHED. A tale that blends the past and the present, four young girls embark on an adventure that involves the ancient King Baldwin of 12th century Jerusalem. Along the way, they learn the true meaning of friendship.
1. The Breakup

**A/N: Special thanks to my fabulous beta, CanaceErinn! Hugs to my girls who inspired me to write this in the first place! Without y'all, I never who have attempted to write something like this at all…I love you all!**

Sunlight glinted off the silver. The intricate carvings were all subject to the hard, long gaze of the sun…no one else dared to stare at him for any longer than necessary, lest they know his wrath. The courtyard was silent, almost deathly so. The only noise present was that of the swishing of his long, stately cape, which billowed behind him every step of the way.

Baldwin did not know that his movements were being followed every way he stepped. Four sets of eyes – blue, grayish blue, green, and even one of hazel – watched the king pace back and forth in front of Reynald de Chatillon. Silently squealing, the eyes kept their intense gaze attached to the scene playing out in front of them; every movement, every breath he made was intensely scrutinized by the eyes, which remained unknown and hidden to the masked ruler. Had he realized how strongly he was being watched, it would surely mean imprisonment or even death for the keepers of the eyes.

click!

"Hey! Why'd you turn it off!" Mimi turned to the person controlling the vcr controller, her demanding green eyes piercing into her friend's.

Placing the controller on her lap and crossing her arms, Jenay turned her head ever so slightly to look at Mimi. "You were drooling and squealing a little too much for comfort, Mims. I couldn't hear his breathing with your constant squealing! I didn't form this club to listen to you!"

"Girls! Stop!" Raissa snatched the controller from Jenay's lap. "I want to watch Baldwin, not listen to you two bickering again! If we can't get along any better than this, we should just disband the Sisterhood of Mad Pervy Baldwin Love!"

Closing her grayish blue eyes tightly, Marcy leaned back against the couch and listened to the other girls bicker about nothing. _I hate it when they argue…we might as well not watch this movie together anymore, if this keeps happening. Oy._

Jenay and Mimi both silently looked at Raissa. Without saying a word, they all knew it would be for the best in the long run. Friends since high school, the three girls had gone to see _Kingdom of Heaven_ one summer's day and found that instead of falling for the lead character as was always the case, they were really digging the king of Jerusalem, the leprous Baldwin IV.

Swallowing slowly, Jenay spoke first. "If that's what's best for the sisterhood, then so be it."

"I guess so…" Mimi agreed, pursing her lips as she contemplated the absence of the sisterhood from her daily routines.

"So are we all in agreement to disband the sisterhood?" Marcy asked, speaking for the first time since the argument started.

The other three members looked at one another and nodded.

As the leader and founder of the sisterhood, Jenay closed her eyes briefly. "Then there is no other choice and we are all in agreement. I hereby declare the Sisterhood of Mad Pervy Baldwin Love officially disbanded."

…and so it was. The Sisterhood of Mad Pervy Baldwin Love was disbanded permanently that summer day.

Or so they thought.

Events beyond their control would bring these four girls back together in a time of need. They needed each other and because of a masked king who ruled Jerusalem centuries early, the sisterhood would once again rise from the ashes of that fateful argument.


	2. Contemplations, Past and Present

**A/N: Thanks to CanaceErinn for being the best beta in the world!**

Walking swiftly across the park, Mimi thought about the previous day's happenings. The breakup of the sisterhood…of friendships that were thought to last forever. She already missed Jenay, Marcy, and Raissa, who she viewed as sisters and not just friends. The more she thought about them, the slower her steps became. At one point, Mimi almost came to a complete stop in the center of the park, staring off into space and thinking about her girls. Sniffling and bringing a finger up to wipe away a stray tear, Mimi clutched her purse and hurried along the winding path.

_Straightening the chain mail that covered his head, Baldwin glanced down at the mask that rested on his sideboard. The mask that defined who he was to anyone that he came in contact with. He knew that most people thought of that mask as cold and unfriendly, but in truth…he was not unkind or cruel to anyone, unless such behavior was needed. _

"Why did this have to happen?" Marcy muttered under her breath as she strolled down the street to the grocery store. "All over a stupid argument that didn't matter to a row of beans. The sisterhood is gone forever because of some damnable bickering!" With that thought, Marcy became determined not to let this be the end of the sisterhood. Somehow she needed to get all of them back together again…but how?

_Walking to the large window on the eastern side of his innermost chambers, Baldwin looked down on his kingdom with loving eyes. He wished with everything he had that he could go down there and stroll among the people. Holding the mask in one hand, Baldwin placed his other hand on his cheek and grimaced. He knew that would never be a possibility, as long as he suffered the devastating effects of the leprosy…something of which he would eventually die. More than anything in the world, Baldwin wanted to feel the touch of another…male or female. He longed for human contact just for a moment in his life. Of course, that would never happen. It was simply a notion, a dream, that he had to let go once and for all. Forever._

Fingering a picture that had been taken the month before, Jenay looked at each girl in that eternal pose. As she looked at the happy faces gathered at the movie theatre, a single tear crept out of the corner of her eye. Sparkling in the light from her desk lamp, the tear streaked down her cheek and fell gently onto a piece of paper. Jenay looked down to see what had gotten stained by her sadness. Written in her most elegant handwriting, accompanied by a sketch she did of the girls, was the official certificate that had been presented to each member of the sisterhood: _The Sisterhood of Mad Pervy Baldwin Love welcomes you _(insert name here)_ to the circle. Accept this honor with pride and never let it down by breaking the circle._ She had let the sisterhood down by disbanding it once and for all. How could she ever look the other girls in the face ever again? That is…if she ever saw the other girls again.

_A knock came through the door to the chambers. Hurriedly, Baldwin placed the mask over his deformed face and bid the person enter. Cautiously opening the door, a servant brought in his afternoon tonic and water. Before Baldwin could issue his thanks, the door was silently shut and he was alone once more. Sighing, he took the glass in hand and swallowed the medicine that was supposed to help heal him…but it did not. Even the servants did not want to be around him any longer than was necessary to prevent a reprimand. How could he ever dream of anything more? More importantly, how did he let himself become obsessed with the idea of touch? In all of his years with the leprosy, it had never bothered him before. Why now? Shaking his head and slowly removing the intricately carved mask from his face, Baldwin sat silently by his window…trapped in a deformed and miserable fate._

Raissa sat straight up in her bed that afternoon. Taking a nap before going to her part-time job, she had been awakened by the dreams swirling and spinning in her mind's eye. She had seen a clock…a picture…even sand. Not having a clue what these items meant together or even separately, her dream self walked through an undefined, gray landscape, only coming to a stop when she almost fell off an unknown cliff. Turning around and running away from the edge, Raissa did not see where she was going…unbeknownst to her, the landscape kept changing and altering to keep her guessing. It was almost a desert of nothing but grayness stretching on forever. Arms pumping at her sides, Raissa ran through the gray land and tried to find an ending, anything to let her out. Turning more and more quickly, Raissa spun herself into a circle, becoming more and more desperate to escape the dream world. Finally when she could take no more, she collapsed in a heap onto the gray matter under her feet.

All of these contemplations would eventually weave together into one, coherent thread…yet, the girls did not know this. Nor should they, as it would destroy the forces that were working jointly to restore that which was once whole.


	3. Eternal Loneliness

**A/N: Thanks again to my wonderful beta, CanaceErinn. I also want to say to those who have read the previous chapters and left reviews…Thanks for all of the great reviews and kind words! I appreciate all of you very much. As for the reviewers who insist on raking me over the coals, all I have to say is this: I write for myself and my friends, who enjoy reading my works and believe in me. To me, that's all that matters in the whole scheme of things, anyway. I'm sorry you don't understand that this in all in fun, no matter what the situation may be. As for whether any research has been done on this, I must assure you that much reading and research has been done on this ruler and his specific time period; however, as some might realize, it is often difficult to bottle someone's personality in a book written centuries later. Unless there are writings from someone who knew the king personally or his own personal journals, I don't know how anyone can sit there and proclaim they know his personality better than anyone else. To address another point that seems to keep arising, I do not mention _Phantom of the Opera_ anywhere in this fic and for people to proclaim that this is nothing more than a knock-off of that story, obviously have not read the previous two chapters. If you are attached to Baldwin, as some are, and are convinced what I'm doing is wrong, there's nothing that says you have to read this; I'm not forcing anyone to read. Please, if my writing bothers you that much that you feel you must be downright mean and hateful to me, don't waste your time reading any further. Just so you all know, I do not intend to stop writing this at all. Ms. Numbers**

_Rising even earlier than the day before, Baldwin watched the sun rise from the balcony of his chambers. He remembered seeing this moment for the first time many years before, when he was but a child contemplating his future. As the years progressed and his destiny became more defined, the young Baldwin realized that his future would not be found beyond the sunrises or sunsets but here in the palace, as he was to take the place of his father as king of Jerusalem._

_With the leprosy taking his life each minute of every day, Baldwin could only dream of what his life might have been had he not been stricken with the disease at such a young age. Here he was at twenty-four years of age and he had never been in the company of a woman, nor would he ever be. Certainly, he could bed some unsuspecting woman that he had ordered to come to his side, but in all good conscience, he would never be able to do so. Baldwin simply cared about his subjects too much to ever force himself on a woman like that; all things considered, he still believed that if he were to ever enter into that ultimate display of love, it had to be with someone that loved him…and could see past the deformities._

_Staring at his gloved hand, Baldwin thought about everything that had occurred in his ten year reign as king; he had defended Jerusalem against all attackers, all who wished to crush the city located in the middle of the Holy Lands. He had performed his royal duties to the best of his ability, even with the leprosy constantly at the back of his mind. Everything he had been trained for…the peace keeping, treaties, the defense of Jerusalem…had been done with the help of his advisors, but all decisions had been his and his alone. As the ruling king, he was constantly surrounded by delegates, foreign adversaries, diplomats, traders, and his ever faithful advisors. _

_Would that be his legacy? Or would he be remembered simply for his leprosy?_

_With that thought, Baldwin decided to take a walk in his gardens. He went over to the rack where his outer robe hung, lifted it carefully off the knob, and placed it around his slight shoulders. Adjusting the mask just so, he wrapped his long fingers around the cloth that he would place on his head; at his mirror, he positioned it so that it would cover as much of the silver mask as possible. With only the facial portion of the mask exposed, Baldwin gave a sigh and headed down to the gardens. _

_A powerful figure in his finery, Baldwin paused slightly on the stairs and looked below onto the level below him. The servants scurried about getting the household ready for the day…preparing the morning meal, lighting the fires, waking the rest of the household. Slowly descending the staircase, he wanted to blend into the morning rituals without being noticed. How could he though? Just once, he wanted to gather the wood and light a fire, or take the eggs between his fingers and slowly crack them open, or even take the dogs out. Anything normal would suffice. _

_As he walked through the great hall and into the gardens, his servants bowed in reverence and eternal loyalty to their king, lord, and master…the person, who to them, was second only to God. He wanted to tell them to not do that, not bow whenever he came around. He always hated being treated like he was untouchable. Yet, no matter what he did or said…he was, in every way._


	4. The Azaleas

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to a dear friend of mine, whose courage and humor inspires me greatly. I am so lucky to have you as a friend…Bee, this is for you. I also want to thank my friend S!E for answering my hundreds of questions. Thanks again to CanaceErinn, my fabulous beta.**

* * *

Red…orange…even pink. The sunrise peeked up over the hills of Laurel, shining its rays as the new day began. The sound of chirping birds filled the air, as if to signal to the world that it was time to awaken and start over; the dew on the grass sparkled like millions of tiny diamonds. As the sound of running footsteps echoed through the early morning air, the summer morning was still and quiet, despite the cars on the interstate ten miles north of the park.

Green was everywhere to be seen; it was a beautiful sight, indeed. Everything had dropped its spring blossoms, while giving way to the leafy green that was waiting to come forth into the world.

Muscles twisted, working harder and harder. Arms pumped, front to back. The ponytail swished, side to side. Sweat ran down the rounded cheek, leaving a trail behind it…slick, wet, and shining. The harder the run, the faster the breaths came, puffing all the way.

As she ran through the park, Marcy chided herself for her not being in better shape. _Gosh…I didn't realize…how out of shape…I am…That's what I…get for…slacking._

Rounding a corner on the path, her thoughts went back to the blowup the other day. She knew that the argument had been foolish, even though she really hadn't participated in it; perhaps this was for the best – drifting away from childhood friends, moving on with one's life. This just wasn't the way she envisioned it happening. It was supposed to be they didn't get together as much…phone calls decrease…promised lunches not fulfilled…until one day, they just don't speak anymore.

She realized at that moment what she needed to do.

* * *

Enchanted Hills was one of the oldest subdivisions in the city limits; Azalea Lane, one of the original residential streets, had Victorian homes and mansions of different colors and sizes running up and down each side of the street.

When the city was first coming into its own, the founders decided to build their homes along this way. In its day, Azalea Lane had been the most prestigious place to live in the new city. Mostly people of wealth lived in these parts, but as with everything, there were exceptions.

Enormous mounds of coral-colored azalea bushes, specifically the _Rhododendron prunifolium_, lined the lane, making it one of the most beautiful streets in Laurel; in fact, Azalea Lane was so renowned for its namesake that national gardening magazines often came just to shoot the azaleas.

Along other streets in the neighborhood, different flowering plants could be found, making the streets bright and alive with rainbows of color. Just to illustrate, there was Daffodil Hill, Tulip Circle, Pansy Place Drive, and many others that echoed the names of the streets. It was also in this neighborhood that the city's first garden club, Horticultural Haven, was founded.

Many of the families that lived in the neighborhood could trace their history back to the founding of the city; the residents at 24 Azalea Lane had had family move into the neighborhood during the affluence of the 1800s. The Ashford family, prestigious though they were, watched as their sons were sent off to fight in the War during the 1860s…one son returned, the other did not.

The surviving son, Jonathan, took up residence in the family home once more and began to study for a career as a lawyer. He became extremely successful in his chosen career and a few years passed before he decided to marry one of the neighborhood girls.

She was a beautiful girl of sixteen when they wed; people around the city had predicted that she would marry the mayor's son, a businessman of many years. He, too, was a success with his career path, but to hear her describe him, he was "as plain as the color of my oatmeal." With her winsome smile, sweet voice, and loving personality, it was not a wonder why so many young men dreamed of marrying this young beauty with the jade-colored eyes.

So with the eventual blessing of her parents, Mirabelle Broussard married Jonathan in the summer of 1870.

Violet Ashford Prescott, the current resident at 24 Azalea Lane, was the granddaughter of Jonathan and Mirabelle Ashford. She had grown up in Laurel and eventually married her childhood sweetheart, John Prescott, when she was eighteen; together, they had three children: Marianne, Margaret, and John Jr.

Ten years after the youngest Prescott had moved out, John died of a massive heart attack at the age of sixty. Now all alone in the huge Victorian house, Violet cherished the visits from her grandchildren; she adored all twelve of them, but she enjoyed the visits with Mimi, Marianne's younger daughter, the most.

* * *

Across town, Mimi was on her way to visit her Grandmother Violet at her home on Azalea Lane. She had always adored her grandmother since she was a small girl and now was no different. As she rode her bike through the neighborhoods to Enchanted Hills, Mimi thought of how she used to dream of growing up to be just like her grandmother.

Tall, regal, and still very beautiful at a young sixty-nine years, Grandmother Violet was an inspiration to all of her family. She was wise and always knew exactly what to say, even if it was detrimental in nature. Of all the family she had, Mimi knew Grandmother Violet would have the answers for her problem.

* * *

The local bookstore, _Laurel's Librairie_, specialized in hard-to-find books, specifically nonfiction and international reads; the owner, Aimeé Desbois, had settled in Laurel ten years ago after immigrating to the States from Pau, France. A petit raven-haired woman, Aimeé and her store were quite popular with the residents of the southern city.

One summer morning, Aimeé was doing some inventory in the back room when she heard the front door open and tiny tinkle of a bell. Placing her pen down on the desk, she poked her head outside of the room to see who had entered the shop.

"Ah! _Bonjour_, Mademoiselle Marcy!" She greeted her customer with a lilting French accent.

"_Bonjour_, Miss Aimeé!" Came the reply, spoken in the ways of a person living in the Deep South. Of course, the French greeting sounded out of place, but since Aimeé had moved to Laurel, French and its ways were slowly becoming ingrained in the city.

"What can I do for you today, _chere_? A new book on Hannibal, perhaps? Or one on the customs of India?" Aimeé always tried to please her customers, as she was well aware of the fact that without them, she would not have her beloved shop.

Looking down at the piece of paper held in between her thumb and index finger, Marcy stepped forward to where the French woman stood by the counter.

"Actually, Miss Aimeé, I need to find this book. It's urgent."

She took the paper and glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. "I will do my best to find it for you, Marcy. I make no promises."

Smiling broadly, Marcy assured her that her word was enough reassurance for her. Lightly touching Aimee's elbow as they exchanged farewells, the young woman turned and walked out of the shop into the summer sun.


	5. Changes

**A/N: This chapter is very short…but I liked it this way, so that's how it is. It just fits well, I think. Thanks to S!E for pointing out that bigger is not always better. **

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_A change was coming._

_Baldwin knew something was going to happen in the very near future, but he did not know what it could possibly mean or even entail. It might involve Jerusalem or just the king himself…whatever the event, it would change him, that much he knew._

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Ethan Dunmore, one of Laurel's most popular teachers in the local high school, was walking down Cherry Street on his way to his home in Perennial Place, an upscale neighborhood located on the south side of town. He chose to walk simply because it was a beautiful day; Laurel was a town that one could walk to work or even leave the doors to the house unlocked. Nothing bad ever happened in this southern town, the epitome of the Old South.

As he passed the post office, which was not a full branch (if one needed anything more than just posting something or buying stamps, a trip to the full branch in nearby White Ash was needed), he remembered a note he'd found in his classroom earlier that day. A music teacher, he always enjoyed the two o'clock period, as the kids were always enthusiastic and enjoyed anything he set before them. So when he found the note after his class that day, he knew something was up with a few of the students.

Continuing to walk, he pulled the note out of his trouser pocket and unfolded it, reading it once more.

_Raissa, _

_Baldwin, 6_

_24 A.L._

_URGENT_

_-Marcy_

Now, Ethan considered himself to be a cool person…okay, semi-cool. He thought he understood the young'uns fairly well and could relate to them in any fashion, should it be necessary. So when he found this note on the floor and read it, Ethan realized how out of touch he was with the younger generation; what on earth could it mean? Once he reached the house, a phone call was in order, most definitely.

Running a hand through his pitch black hair, which was in need of a good trim, he folded the note and returned it to his pocket. Picking up the pace a bit, Ethan soon reached his home on Lantana Circle.

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_A soft breeze began flowing into the king's chambers, bringing him back to reality, for he had dozed off into a dream of sorts. How odd it had been, this dream…four girls, all friends, were arguing over something he could not quite understand. Who were these girls? He was positive he had never seen them before._

_Something was happening. Was this a foretelling of the future in some way? _

_Baldwin did not know. _

_Nor would he for some time to come._


End file.
